


To be

by emma_ockham



Series: Unrelated Tearful Tales [3]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Existential Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emma_ockham/pseuds/emma_ockham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This starts a few days after Roslin's miraculous resurrection in Epiphanies.<br/>No one asked Roslin if she wanted to be revived. Without her impending death to guide her actions and set her agenda, she is bemused, lost.<br/>Maybe, with this second lease on life, she can do things different.<br/> </p><p>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To be

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to deepforestowl and datsue ! Their honest and well thought out beta comments had quite an effect on the end result. All errors, of course, are mine.
> 
> This was written in the days that Cottle was still called Jack.

The meeting of the Quorum ploughed through the details so slowly that to Laura it seemed it edged backward rather than forward. She had given up on monitoring the proceedings; she didn’t care much about the outcome, but she did hope it would end soon. Her eyes trailed the head that produced the bulk of the volume, giving it what she knew to be the semblance of professional attention, but the words no longer registered - a trick she'd picked up from Richard, in another life. 

_Richard is dead.  
I’m alive. _

Her fingers ambled absent-mindedly over the sturdy fabric that covered her left armpit; not so much checking for the presence of cancer as relishing in the absence of its debilitating pain. It had had her bubbling with energy for the first few days, but even now, after a week, the relief remained with her almost constantly. 

_I’m alive_. She tapped the solid table to convince herself. _I'm here_. 

The stale tang of reused air settled on her tongue. The debate was dragging on longer than anyone had anticipated. Dinner time had come and gone, the evening was well on its way, and still there was no end in sight. She knew the Members expected her to intervene and resolve their indecision, but she couldn't push her brain to concentrate on it.

_These aren’t my problems any more.  
Where’s Baltar?! _

Laura pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to slice through the fog that separated her from the Quorum. _Water management. Right._ She touched the table again. _Here. I’m here._ She straightened herself in her chair. _Pay attention, Roslin._

Constriction expanded in her torso as if a ballooning parasite had taken up residence there. It had been swelling in her chest ever since Baltar had resurrected her; it seemed to nurture on her growing sense of disconnection. 

She had been toiling towards closure for so long, towards that final focal point, that her abruptly restored life felt unnervingly as if she had been propelled into an empty expanse of space that stretched itself out in all directions … full of options … yet utterly devoid of guiding markers. Life. What was she going to do with it?

“This meeting is adjourned.”

Heads spun towards her. It was the first thing she'd said since she had formally opened the conference, long hours ago. The stunned inquiry of the representatives, their mute reproof and unvoiced demands weighed her down as if the burden they tried to load on her smothered her physically. 

Without a word she rose, nodded perfunctorily, and strode past the startled Quorum Members, past Billy, back to the shuttle. She avoided eye contact with the boy all the way to Colonial One and went to her quarters in silence. Finally entering the privacy of her abode, she closed the curtain behind herself, shutting out the wide-eyed aide who had been trailing her with growing trepidation.

She let her clothes fall where she stood, not bothering with folding or hanging. She dimmed the lights, climbed into her bed, curled to her side and drew the fresh, cool sheets all the way over her head. 

_Why am I still here?_

When, after an hour, the knot in her chest still obstructed her breathing, she sat up and took two of the pills Cottle had given her. Pulling the pillow close, she waited for sleep to come.

&&&

Laura woke to inflexible hands turning her to her back. She clutched the cushion, unwilling to surrender its comfort.

“Huhmm? Whah?” 

Her eyes refused to open, plastered shut by the sedative. _Why don’t they just go away!?_ She curled back to her previous position, but the blankets were dragged off of her. Cold air licked at her naked feet and then trickled through her nightwear. 

“Gowaway!” she grabbled for the sheets and struggled to raise her eyelids to confront the infraction. _If I am to be your president, you damn well start treating my like it!_

“Oh no, young lady.” Cottle’s voice pierced her muffled brain; firm hands forced her onto her back again. 

“Jack?” She managed to open one eye. “Jack, what are you doing here? I am trying to sleep.” 

“Any pain?”

“Hmm, what? … No, no pain.”

Cottle’s hands travelled over her body with professional directness, checking out her vital signs, and then her breast.

“Hey!” She opened her other eye too and glared at him. “What’s the matter with you?”

“You scared your aide,” Cottle answered curtly.

“Billy?” Her lips became a thin line of displeasure when realization sank in. “Gods! I’m all right. He shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“I want you back in Life Station, nevertheless.” 

“You what…? Oh no! I’m not going there because my aide feels uncomfortable. Take _him_ to Life Station if he has a problem.” 

Cottle made a non-committal sound and pressed a stethoscope to her chest. “Baltar’s treatment was highly experimental. No one can be sure of the side effects.”

“’ _Perhaps it’s just her time…_ ’,” she quoted the doctor’s words back at him.

Cottle’s hands stopped their movements. He watched her and after a moment sat down on the chair next to her bed.

“You heard that, huh?”

She looked away. “Perhaps it _was_ my time,” she offered, working past the sudden constriction of her throat.

Cottle squinted, studying her. “I didn’t agree with Baltar’s actions then, but there’s no use crying over spoiled milk now.” 

“Spoiled milk?” she arched a brow. 

Then she shrugged. “Perhaps you are right to call it that.” She pushed herself up to a sitting position, wrapping herself in her inviting blankets. “You were right when you tried to stop him.” 

“You would have preferred death?” The CMO's incredulity surfaced from behind his grumpy detachment.

Laura realized she didn't know what she would have preferred. She hesitated. Cottle was no Elosha. He was practical, down-to-earth, focused on bodies - not souls. Would he understand if she told him this? 

_Would anyone?_

The constriction almost choked her. She forced herself to breathe evenly. Even if Jack would understand, she didn't have the words to give voice to her sense of disjunction. She was supposed to be overjoyed. Not … this.

She pulled up her feet and stretched out on the couch again. “I’ll see you in Life Station at your convenience tomorrow, Doctor. Right now I’d like to sleep if you don’t mind.” 

She turned her back to him, pulling the blankets over her head once more - effectively dismissing him.

&&&

**Author's Note:**

> TBC


End file.
